He regarded them as born to perpetual pupilage.

Not that their inclinations were necessarily wanton; they were simply incapable of attaining maturity, remained throughout their life imperfect beings, at the mercy of craft, ever liable to be misled by childish misconceptions.

Of course he was right; he himself represented the guardian male, the wife-proprietor, who from the dawn of civilization has taken abundant care that woman shall not outgrow her nonage.

The bitterness of his situation lay in the fact that he had wedded a woman who irresistibly proved to him her claims as a human being.

Reason and tradition contended in him, to his ceaseless torment.
And again, he feared that Monica did not love him.